


Getting By

by pleasantirrelevance



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, One Shot, Single Parent AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 13:54:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2470604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasantirrelevance/pseuds/pleasantirrelevance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk is a single parent who struggles to provide for his six-year-old son, Dave.<br/>One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting By

_No. No, this can’t be happening_ , you think. You aren’t ready to be a father. You’re way too young.

\---

Your name is Dirk Strider and you are a single parent. Life is hard, but you have food to eat and a roof over your head, so you should be grateful for that, you guess. You work two jobs and can barely afford the tiny apartment where you live with your son, Dave. That kid means the world to you. He’s six now, and almost too smart for his own good. You’re really proud of him.

You remember the day you found out about him. His mom left him on your doorstep in a basket, just like in the movies. She never contacted you again. You thought about giving him up for adoption, but you just couldn’t make yourself do it. So you dropped out of school to raise your son.

You have a full-time job as a subway operator, and work the evenings at McDonald’s. You don’t have enough money for a babysitter. The first few years you took Dave to work with you, snuck him into the operator’s booth or let him ride on the subway. It must’ve looked strange, some little kid sitting all alone on an underground train, but no one ever said anything about it, and Dave knew he shouldn’t talk to anyone. It was easier at McDonald’s, because as long as Dave kept his mouth shut and stayed out of the kitchen, nobody minded. You could keep an eye on him too. All of the staff knew him and you were on good terms with the boss, so it was okay. The little man even befriended some of your coworkers. They gave him food in secret sometimes, usually a kids’ meal or a juice box, which he always saved until you two got home. He always offered to split, and you always denied, but he knew better and would give you half anyway.

Dave started school this year. You knew you couldn’t miss his first day, so you called in sick and prepared an unusually extravagant breakfast of fresh bread from the bakery, bacon (the good kind), pancakes, and scrambled eggs. The enterprising youngster was already awake and dressed for school when you knocked on the bedroom door. He was used to waking up much earlier to go to work with you, so he was extra energetic from being allowed to “sleep in”. That day you ate like kings.

You felt yourself tear up when you walked Dave to the bus stop. You made him promise for the sixth time to stay safe and tell you if anything happens. He reassured you for the sixth time that everything was going to be fine. The bus stopped right in front of your apartment building. You hoped the other kids on the bus wouldn’t notice how some of the windows are boarded up, how the numbers on the door aren’t perfectly straight, or how Dave has a tear in his jean shorts. Your son hugged you and ran into the bus, which wasn’t very full since most parents drive their kids to school. You don’t have a car, so that’s out of the question for you. You searched for a towheaded head of hair peering out of the window, and sure enough, there he was, his round face pressed up against the glass. The yellow bus soon whisked him away from you.

You were often late to work, staying at home longer to make Dave a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for school and pour him a glass of apple juice. You made sure to prepare breakfast for him every day, even if it was just pouring cereal into a bowl and dousing it with milk. You stopped doing that when Dave started joking about soggy cereal. You arrived from work when he was already at home, ready to pick him up and take him to your second job. Your luck didn’t last long, however. The subway management was noticing your continued belatedness, and you guess they just got tired of it.

It was an ironically beautiful day when you lost your job. They didn’t even give you a two week’s notice. You just arrived, and they told you it was over. You spend the rest of the day aimlessly wandering around the city, looking into shop windows at things you couldn’t buy. Dave would know if you came home early. He’d ask questions. You wouldn’t be able to handle that. How would you break it to him?

You arrive home with a box of Chinese takeout. Dave is sitting by the small dining table, doodling in a notebook. One day I’ll buy that kid a laptop, you promise before realizing that you’d never be able to afford it.

“Hey, bro,” he says, not taking his eyes from the notebook. Dave never calls you “dad”. The title carries too much responsibility along with it. You’re glad he didn’t look at you. You hope your tinted glasses hide your red, glassy eyes. You’re afraid to talk for fear of blurting something out. Bad move. 

“Are you okay?” he looks up at you, concerned. “You didn’t answer.”

“I’m fine,” you reply, hoping your voice isn’t too shaky. You quickly start a new topic. “You should start getting ready. It’s cold outside and we have to leave soon.”

“I’m not going,” Dave says calmly. “Not until you tell me what’s going on. Bro, don’t deny it, I know something’s wrong.”

This kid was too smart. There’s no keeping things from him. “I lost my job, Dave,” You bury your face in your hands.

Dave looks down, unsure how to react. “It’s okay, bro. I’m sure we can do something. Aw bro, don’t cry,” his eyes are beginning to tear up too. “We can downsize or something.”

You manage to force out a sentence. “How do you even know that word? You’re six.”

Dave doesn’t answer.

“Wait, you don’t know what insurance means, right?” The kid crinkles his nose. “What’s inshuruns?” You breathe a sigh of relief. There’s still a bit of kid left in your six year old.

Both of you sit in silence.

“What about those plushie-puppet things you used to make?” You remember when you made plushies daily, selling them online. They were quite successful, but you fell out of the business quickly. You even remember making stop-motion movies of them as a form of advertising. You stopped making them because they took up too much of your time.

“It’s too late for that, Dave. We don’t have a computer or a camera.”

Dave thinks for a bit, then grins wildly. “I think I can do something about that.”

You're already running late for your second job. You can afford to take a sick day.

A week later, Dave returns home from school late. You’re frantic when he doesn’t come home. You curse yourself for not buying him an old cell phone to use.

You’re starting to fear the worst when Dave walks into the apartment, a goofy grin on his face. You run towards your son and pull him into a tight hug. “Dave, promise me you’ll never do that to me again! What were you thinking, going off somewhere without me knowing?”

The kid pushes you off. “Bro, sit at the table,” he instructs you. You oblige. Dave grabs an old dishrag and takes off your sunglasses, tying the rag around your eyes.  "Don’t look!”

When he takes it off, in front of you is Dave’s disposable camera, the cheap plastic kind, and a bunch of used scratch cards. Dave is smiling the biggest you’ve ever seen. “Now you can start your business,” he beams. “You have a camera, and these cards are worth $267. I had my teacher count. I bought a few at the corner store every day on my way from the bus stop. She also entered one of my raps in a competition, so if I win we’ll get 500 more. It should be enough for a laptop.”

You grasp the scratch cards, not believing what you’re seeing. “Dave, how did you pay for these?”

“I used my savings, and sometimes my friends brought in some for poems or drawings or stuff. Oh yeah, and I sold one pair of my glasses for three of the two dollar ones.” You blink and look up at the most business-savvy six year old in the world. _That kid will grow up to be a billionaire._

“Dave, you-you’re amazing.”

“Now we might not have to move out. I can help you with the plushies!” he offers. '

You pull him into a tight hug.

“Dave, I think we might be alright.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a school assignment, so a few things had to be, uh, dumbed down for my health class.  
> My first fanfic! Hope it's alright c:
> 
> (Set right before Bro got insanely rich from his smuppets)


End file.
